She’s the kind of girl that gathers withered wildflowers, and sticks them in her hair even though their beauty has gone. There is a broken beauty is something such as flowers without life. Their crumpled petals and weak stems remind her of herself, and almost like looking in a shattered mirror the reflection seen is all too familiar. Is it wrong to collect the things that remind us so much of ours...

I fade into the darkness, like the shadows on the wall
Nobody hears my cries, nobody notices when I call
Although I scream I am here! the words just won’t fall
I fade into the darkness, like the shadows on the wall.
When the night comes calling, then you might see me,
Just a mere reflection of the man I used to be
My life is now over, the end is yet to come,
I am the man in the sha...